


Chapter Seventy-One: The Farthest Star

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [72]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Catharsis, Friendship, Gen, Other, Possessed Weapons, Recovery, References to Prescription Drug Use, inventory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luna One. The <i>Lost Light</i> crew initiate <strike>looting</strike> <i>requisitioning</i> and clean up after the incident with Tyrest and his goons. While taking inventory of the impressive armoury (much to the chagrin of a certain former public servant who had served on the Ethics Board), they find Circle of Light knights with a similar plan in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Seventy-One: The Farthest Star

We possess the power  
If this should start to fall apart  
To mend divides  
To change the world  
To reach the farthest star  
If we should stay silent  
If fear should win our hearts  
Our light will have long diminished  
Before it reaches the farthest star  
—["The Farthest Star"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bedj1qC_jwg) by VNV Nation, from Judgement

  
  
Luna 1 Facility Medibay  
Now  
  
Ratchet had assured Artemis that she needed to be put under to reattach her arm; because of the damage caused to her shoulder assembly and tyre mount, it would have required in depth surgery into her neck and chest cavity.

Artemis's running theory was that Ratchet was not in the mood for arguments and barbs during the procedure, but held her tongue. The CMO was surlier than usual, and with First Aid somber and on autopilot, it was best to shut up and roll with it.  
Her chronometer clocked four megacycles had past when she had come to, the first sensation in her left hand was someone holding it. And by the unique circular patterns in the palm, it was an easy guess to whom it was.

"Gotta admit, that's romantic," she grinned, onlining her optics. "Can't say I'm not liking it."

"I'll have you know," Trailcutter stated, "that I'm shirking my duly-appointed duties to be here."

"Which are...?"

"Helping Gears and Huffer break down equipment?"

"Why was that a question?"

"Because it isn't so much 'helping' as just standing around, pretending I'm supervising, while listening to them colourfully discussing conflicted views on how to do their jobs...?"

"There's that question mark again."

"Well, technically they're self-sufficient and quick at their assignments, so I have to wonder why Magnus would ask me to supervise them — "

"Magnus asked you?" She pushed herself up into sitting, thankful for having her left arm back as she used her elbows for balance. "Did he say anything else to you? Talk face to face?"

Trailcutter shook his head. "Sent me a couple of messages, actually. Though the first one seemed out of character. Asked me how I was doing. If I was all right."

"He really does care about the crew, 'Cutter. He just has a tough time showing it sometimes." _That and he calculates everything. Thank you, soldier._ "Well, probably should check out the range of the arm, lest I get it wrecked up — " she rotated her left shoulder, then cocked her brow. "Huh. My compliments to the Doc."

"Don't call me that!" Ratchet shouted from the office, where he was perusing datapads, before throwing them into a box. "You had burrs in your rotator that you let get bad." Without taking his optics off the particular 'pad, he questioned, "Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Can you get on your feet? Don't help her, Trailcutter, just be there in case she stumbles."

"You okay, Ratchet?" Trailcutter questioned as Artemis slid off the slab.

"No, I am not," the white and red medic retorted, tossing the device in with its brethren before moving onto the next. "Ambulon's dead, First Aid's this side of incapacitated, the Cee-Oh-Ell medics are more interested in praying over the wounded than actually treating them, and while we're on the topic of ethics, if I wasn't already horrified by Pharma's experiments before...!" Adding the next datapad to the growing pile, Ratchet stood, opening a filing cabinet for hard-copy data. Flipping through the folios, he swore, slamming the folder into the box, before rubbing his optics. "Look, Artemis, if you're not dizzy or nauseous or tripping over your feet, you're clear to go. I really need to concentrate here."

"Will do, Ratchet! Hope you find what you're looking for." Trailcutter gave the medic a large grin and a thumb's up. "Let us know if you need a hand, okay?"

"Yeah," Ratchet sighed, but resumed his research.

"C'mon, 'Cutter," Artemis looped her reattached appendage around his arm, "let's give Ratchet some peace and quiet."

Once outside the medibay, Trailcutter looked back at the closed doors, worrying his bottom lip. "Something's bothering him," he muttered, taking his usual spot at her right. 

"What doesn't? And frankly, losing Ambulon's a blow. Not only to Ratchet but to the crew." She rotated her shoulder joint — it had been stiff at best, a constant ache at worst, for the better part of two decades — and marvelled at the smoothness of the movement. Flexing her hand, she closed it into a fist before dropping it to her side. "Speaking from experience, finding your ex alive and well and causing galactic havoc can wear on one's nerves." 

He placed a hand on her back, between her shoulder struts. "You don't have to go there, Art. I know what you're saying."

"Just saying I understand what he's going through." Artemis looped her arm under his, resting her hand on his opposite hip. "You tend to do two things when you're in that position: you either have to steel yourself, wall off any feelings, and react aggressively, hoping they'll take the hint and leave you be, or you give in, give them 'one more chance', hoping that they've seen the error of their ways." 

"Gotta say, that's a bit of foreign territory for me." Trailcutter rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"Don't be — it's a talent to hold that type of friendship. Good to know if I frag up royally — "

"Now don't go there!" he chided, just as their comms went off simultaneously. "Either that's Cav being Cav — "

Artemis checked hers first. "It's Magnus. We're to handle requisitions in the armoury."

"Please tell me that's a 'we' as in present company, because the thought of you teamed up with Skids and Whirl is giving me spark palpitations." 

"CC'd to you, Huffer, and Landmine. Which poses the question, where's Skids at?"

"Yeah, about that. Remember that documentary that Rewind was working on, before...?"

"Yeah...?" Artemis posed her affirmation as a question, with equal parts fondness, sadness, and apprehension.

"Well, he and Swerve had the bright idea of a screening in the Amphitheatre to the Cee-Oh-Ell as a recruitment tool. And Skids being Skids — "

"Oh, wonderful, more religious nutters."

"Art — "

"Yeah, sorry. But if I get ganged up on, I can't be held responsible for what carnage will follow. And besides, I have been nicer to Xaaron since our talk."

"Art, may I remind you the Cee-Oh-Ell are scary-efficient with swords."

"And I'm scary-efficient with a shotgun and a hammer. Point?"

Trailcutter sighed, a grin threatening to crack his otherwise serious exteriour. "We need to go over self-preservation protocols again, don't we?"

"Well, as long as they stay out of my sphere of influence or whatever the hell it's called, we won't have to worry, would we?" She bumped up against him. "So, which way to the armoury? Primus, I need something to drink."

"Ratchet said nothing to drink save standard rations until the drugs wear off."

"I'm on drugs?"

"Well, pain meds. I was given strict orders to keep an optic on you."

"I thought that was your standing orders anyway." Another alert, this one on Artemis's comm exclusively. She checked the message and chuckled. "'Loot the stores; we LO in six mcs.' Lift off in six megacycles. Nyonians and their abbreviations."

"He probably turned off his autocorrect. He meant requisition; he wouldn't actually tell us to loot."

"Yes, he probably did, and yes, he would." She returned her comm to its holster. "Trust me, he likes the simplest explanation, and will only use big words if it were to appease Magnus." With a sardonic harrumph, she added, "And without Drift writing his speeches, we'll hear more of his plain-speak."

After a couple of wrong turns and a megacycle and a half of getting lost in the facility, they finally stumbled across Huffer, hopping from one foot to the other. "Where have you been?" He demanded, his unmistakable whine hitting impatience. "This place gives me the creeps!"

"Do you really need to ask them that?" Landmine laughed, giving Huffer's helm a quick, light rap. To the larger mechs, still grinning, he added, "Almost had to start the party without you. Sooner we get this done, the sooner we can hit the bar, yeah?"

"Gotta wait for my meds to wear off before I can start drinking," Artemis retorted. "And seeing I'm feeling pretty fragging fantastic right now, I'm not looking forward to the crash." 

"How's Gears doing?" Trailcutter asked Huffer as they proceeded to the armoury.

Huffer made a sound from his throat somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. "Let's just say he's nearly back to his cheerful self."

"And to think they thought I was joking when I suggested leaving his glitched personality chip out...anyway!" Trailcutter laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into, shall we? Hell, I said 'trouble'. I meant to continue on our assignment. With looting Tyrest's stores. Yeah."

Artemis spun to face Trailcutter, a wide grin spreading across her face. "'Looting' is such an ugly word. I'll go with Magnus and call our endeavours 'requisitioning'." 

"How about 'raiding'?" Huffer suggested.

"Pillaging!" Landmine laughed.

After a few false starts, Trailcutter mad a sweeping gesture with one hand. "For the sake of my moral obligation, not to mention my sanity, let's just stick with 'requisitioning'. Please?"

Extending her index finger, Artemis stated, "Tyrest isn't using it anymore. A shame to let all that state-of-the-art medical equipment to go to waste, or worse, fall into the wrong hands."

Leaning forward, noses almost touching, Trailcutter forced a frown to comical effect as he pointed to the door marked "Armoury." "That," he stressed, "is not medical supplies."

"This is true," she countered, "but may I bring evidence to the court of recent events where we were caught unawares by Tyrest's legislators? What if, inside this room, is the answer to building a top-notch defencive system?"

"I never said we as a ship's crew shouldn't look over the armoury," Trailcutter pointed out, "I only meant you shouldn't."

She attempted a pout, but the healing scar over her lips pulled the gesture into more of a sneer. "I'll have you know that I have brokered many a weapons inspection."

Huffer rubbed at his optics, pushing his goggles over his brow. "I'm starting to regret not staying with Gears now!"

"Besides, It's not like I'm the only one going for it!" Artemis argued, waving her hand towards Huffer and Landmine, the former calculating the odds of escaping the awkward team-up. "We've got responsible mechs observing!"

Trailcutter gestured with his thumb to his chest, then his index finger to the orange and blue Minibot. "Yeah, me and Huffer. And Huffer wants out."

"Oi, I'm responsible!" Landmine protested.

"Yep, listening to Gears is looking better and better," Huffer sighed. 

"One shotgun," Artemis bartered. "And ammo. That's all I need."

"You don't need any more shotguns!" Huffer protested. "What is it with you and shotguns?"

"One of the mysteries of life I keep asking myself," Trailcutter muttered.

Artemis held up a finger. "One. Shotgun. There might not even be shotguns in there."

"Confiscated as per the Tyrest Accord, Art," Trailcutter countered. "Meaning if there's anything in there, shotgun or otherwise, it's because it's going against everything under ethical use."

"Or he was stockpiling for a war," she argued. "One. Shotgun."

"Worn down in five, four, three, two...." Huffer grumbled.

Trailcutter copied Artemis's gesture. "One. Shotgun."

"And ammo." Artemis turned on her heel, jabbing the lock of the armoury door.

"Look on the bright side, 'Cutter," Landmine pointed out, "I once dated a mech from Tau-Ursa who insisted I bring her jewel-encrusted decals every time I came a-courting. That got expensive fast. But interesting — you know Tau-Ursans don't usually have bipedal modes?" 

"Is there a corner of the Arm where you don't have a mech in every — " Huffer cut himself off as they entered the armoury. Floor to ceiling lockers, towering over their heads to a dizzying height. " — port?"

A whimper escaped Trailcutter's throat. "And I am suddenly overcome by a sense of compounding dread."

"We're supposed to catalogue all of this?!" the Minibot whined.

"So!" Artemis clapped her hands, sporting a wide grin, "any bets to where they stashed the melee weapons?"

Landmine harrumphed. "Seriously, Art? I need to teach you how to handle off-site explosive ordinances. I'd hate to see that handsome face of yours get any more scratched up."

"Thanks, but there's nothing more satisfying than the retort of a firearm in your hand, except for the resounding thunk of a blunt weapon crushing an opponent's cranial casing — "

Huffer made a series of choking noises before gesturing madly at the large, dark grey mech. "How—?!" he demanded, his nasally tone hitching an octave. 

Trailcutter worried his bottom lip. "Yep, compounding dread." Catching Artemis and Landmine darting to the nearest locker bank like excited protoforms, he ordered, "Once more, please, for the the love of all that is sane in the universe, use discretion!"

"'Discretion' is not something I would associate with Wreckers or demolition junkies," the orange and blue mech whimpered, trudging forward with his datapad in hand, faltering as Artemis hefted a massive shotgun with an unwieldy drive chain bayonet under the barrel. "Primus, that's not even practical!"

"Don't show this to Cav," Artemis warned. "She'd want it for the novelty."

Trailcutter fumbled his own 'pad, catching it before it hit the ground. "Why? Why does that even exist?"

"Pure, unbridled destruction?" Landmine suggested, stuffing a duffel with frag grenades.

"If you want to include yourself in the collateral," Artemis judged, studying the stock for a latch to detach the bayonet. "Too cumbersome, and likely to lose a finger or three in the process. No safety, either. Bayonet's built in, could cause a jam. My opinion? Waste of resources." Tapping her left hip compartment, she removed her firearm maintenance kit and, one-handed, flipped out a multi-head driver to break down the unwieldy weapon. Sinking to the floor in a cross-legged position, she reported, "Huffer, Locker 1A, contents: one Leader-class shotgun with drive-chain bayonet. Custom build, no maker's mark. Impractical for real combat. Status, broken down for parts. Do we have a compartment bin for storage?"

Holding his hands up and bowing his head as though in prayer, Trailcutter mouthed, "Thank you," before assessing the expansive armoury. 

"Locker 2A, contents: seventy-four frag grenades, mass manufactured by Torrill Ordinances. Locked pins, stored in blast-resistant casings," Landmine called out, setting the duffel in front of the now closed locker before moving to the next.

Huffer made the notations, then stared up at the high ceiling, shoulders slumping. "It's going to be a long night," he sighed.  
For the better part of three megacycles, the team bantered, catalogued, and, if needed, disarmed and disassembled weapons, only clearing out a quarter of the ground floor. Requesting more help in the task brought Fortress Maximus, Hoist, and Grapple to assist. 

"Now this is an armoury," Max whistled, flanking the engineer and the architect as they entered the cavernous room. "What was Tyrest planning, to start a war?"

"That's the running theory," Landmine shrugged.

"Makes sense: kill off half the population, overpower the other while they're trying to figure out what the hell happened," the former warden shrugged as Grapple picked through the disassembled pieces of weaponry. "Scrap move on his part."

"You couldn't have come down here just to give us a hand," Trailcutter directed to Max. "What brings you moonside?"

Hoist took the opportunity to break from Grapple and approach Artemis. Tapping her left arm, he asked, "How're you doing?"

"Coming down from the pain meds," she admitted. "Things taken care of with Magnus?"

Hoist nodded. "We were able to clear out the wreckage, and plans have been drawn to rebuild the security wing; half of Engineering are still recovering, but we'll be looking at reconstruction in the next couple of sols." His faceplate moved before words formed. "I don't know what you said to convince him to keep the report vague, but it's much appreciated."

"I take it this isn't the first time something like this happened," Artemis muttered, leading deeper into the armoury.

"It isn't." The green and yellow engineer kept in step with her. "Magnus asked me for my 'assessment' of the situation, which, I assume, was also how he approached you."

"Assumed correctly." Artemis furrowed her brow, staring straight ahead; Hoist followed her gaze to where three other mechs — Cee-Oh-Ell by their style and stance — were pushing a hover-trolley laden with crates. "Oi! You got clearance to be here?"

"Tyrest is no longer master here," the smallest of the three, a red and blue fellow with a slim flyer frame, retorted. "We have every right to return weapons of cultural and religious significance to their rightful places."

"Yeah, after they've been catalogued and tagged. And trust me, Ultra Magnus doesn't take too kindly to looking the other way. So you just sit tight and look pretty while we do things proper-like."

The mech on the light-frame's right, a grey and gold heavy with unfocused, yellow optics, murmured something in a baritone. The light-frame nodded. "Holy artifacts have no place amongst a crew of heathens and heretics. Stand aside."

"Oh, no," Hoist hid his optics as Artemis squared her shoulders. 

"I don't think you heard me," Artemis enunciated her words. "We have a job to complete. After that, you can take whatever trinket you deem necessary to worship your imaginary buddy."

"Oh, Artemis," Hoist muttered, glancing over his shoulder to gauge the distance where Max and Trailcutter were discussing the progress of the inventory.

If the black and chrome mech heard him, she did not acknowledge. "So if you so kindly wait your fragging turn — "

The third, a blue and ivory heavy otherwise nigh identical in build to the other, gripped the hilt of his sword on his left hip and slid it out part way.

"Oh, you don't want to that," she warned. "You have no idea who you're dealing with." To the smaller flyer, she ordered, "Tell your boy to stand down, pretty. We can take this peace-like, which means you go and sit outside while we finish our fragging job."

"You know what the problem is with you Wreckers?" the smaller Cee-Oh-Ell met her optics. "You burn bright and flare out just as quickly, leaving only ash in your wake."

"Wait, how did you know — " Hoist attempted to defuse the situation.

"Go ahead," she growled, rolling her shoulders, spreading her arms out in invitation. "Throw the first punch. Let’s see how bright I can burn."

"Please, let's settle this without resorting to violence!" Hoist held his hands in a symbol of peace. 

"The entire lot of you are an affront to our race," the flyer continued, pressing forward till he was nearly nose to nose with the black and chrome mech. "Yours is a warmongering way, and your band of aimless heathens and drunkards — "

"Don't — !" Hoist couldn't finish the sentence — he wasn't certain he meant it towards his companion or the aggressor — as Artemis ratcheted back her right arm and jammed two knuckles into the flyer's throat, just hard enough to catch static and send him back a couple of strides. 

The red and blue flyer drew his sword, cutting Hoist's protest off, leading with the blunt edge of his blade.

"Max! Situation!" Hoist shouted as Artemis fell back to avoid the attack, a seemingly clumsy roll until she snapped out a kick to the Cee-Oh-Ell's kneecap. Continuing the momentum, she overturned the trolley, spilling its contents between Hoist and the warrior priests. Grabbing a broken crate lid, she lobbed it at the three, the two flanking now with swords drawn.

"Hoist, fall back!" Artemis grabbed blindly for the nearest object — a heavy hilted weapon — and brought it in front of her just as the gold and grey mech's sword sliced downward, again leading with the spine of the sword. 

A metal-on-metal clang reverberated through the cavernous room, a harbinger to Max's bellow: "What the hell is going on here?"

The odds no longer in the trio's favour, the Cee-Oh-Ell lowered their weapons, backing away to assess the situation. 

"Hoist, what happened?" the former warden questioned the engineer, who was huddled behind the overturned trolley. To Trailcutter flanking him, Max made a gesture towards Artemis as she kicked away the crates pinning her legs.

The red and blue flyer coughed, his voice rough. "We were — "

"I'm asking Hoist, not you," Max warned, keeping his optics on the green and yellow mech. "What happened?"

Hoist's optics darted from the former Garrus Nine warden to the glowering Cee-Oh-Ell knights, to Trailcutter helping Artemis clear the overturned crates. "Erm...honestly, Max, I don't think I'm a impartial witness in this — "

"That wasn't a request," Max warned.

"Fine." Exhaling, the engineer's shoulders slumped. "Artemis confronted these three — " he gestured to the Cee-Oh-Ell " — for attempting to remove these — " he swept his hand to indicate the crates " — from the area before her team could process them. They claimed they were removing items of cultural and religious significance. Artemis stuck to her guns and insisted they wait until the task was completed."

"Who drew first?"

Reluctant at first, Hoist caved to Max's demand. "He did," Keeping his optics downcast, Hoist flicked his index finger to indicate the blue and ivory heavy. "Then their leader got in Art's face. Red and blue flyer." He took a sharp intake. "I attempted to warn him on her proximity trigger, but by then it was too late."

"If this heretic would have allowed us — " the flyer snapped rubbed his throat, the static ebbing.

"Okay, first thing? Unless I'm asking you a question, shut the frag up." Max pointed a finger at the leader. "Did you or did you not attempt to remove items from this armoury before they were inventoried?"

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" the red and blue mech countered.

"The new boss, that's who. And that's your final warning. Did you or did you not attempt to remove — "

"They were property of the Circle of Light, stolen when Tyrest destroyed our home!"

"So you thought it wise to steal them back before we could be all official-like?" Bending at the waist, Max brought his face close to the flyer. "You're not hiding something, are you? Taking more than your property?"

"How dare you accuse me — "

"Art, 'Cutter, get those weapons secured and processed as evidence, call it in to Red when you're done. Me and you — " he pointed to Artemis, " — are going to have a little talk after you get this mess cleaned up. In the meantime, Pretty here is gonna take a walk with me. You, big guy." Max pointed to the large grey and gold heavy, "call whoever your big boss is now and have him meet me in my office. Used to be Tyrest's. Can't miss it, it's be big one that's been sacked. If he's not there in ten cycles, I'll hunt him down and drag him there myself." Back to the flyer, he explained, "We're gonna get this sorted out all nice and proper, are we clear?"

Without waiting for an answer, Max took the Cee-Oh-Ell flyer by the arm and half-dragged him through the armoury, past Landmine, Huffer, Grapple, and a growing crowd outside consisting of Lost Lighters and Cee-Oh-Ell alike, the heavies following close behind.

Sitting hard on a crate, Hoist vented, slouching forward. "Primus, that was close," he muttered. "Are you all right, Art?"

Sheathing the weapon in her hand over her left shoulder in an automatic, practised movement, Artemis tackled a large crate, pulling it onto the trolley. "Fan-fraggin'-tastic. I mean, here I was, thinking they'd be more like..."

"...Drift?" Trailcutter suggested, glancing over his shoulder at the dispersing crowd. "I heard Star Saber killed their leader. They're probably in a foul mood because of that."

"Drift was an idealist," Hoist reminded, picking up a lid and studying the label. "As religious orders go, he was quite tolerant."  
"As a rule, I don't trust cults," Artemis grumbled, flicking out her shiv to jimmy open the crate. "Without the master manifest, how would he know which 'culturally or religious artifact' went to who?"

Trailcutter rubbed the back of his neck. "Speaking of which, Art — " 

"Can we talk about that in private?" she interrupted. "Sorry, love, trigger warning. Will tell you, promise, just can't right now."

Trailcutter did not say anything straight away, but instead walked around so that he was behind her. He glanced up at Hoist, who had arched a brow in curiosity, before finding his words. "I'm not caring about what happened then," the specialist's voice hitched, his optics back on the cobalt and gold two-handed hammer sheathed at her back. "What's the chance of these artifacts having wills of their own?"

"It's been tried; worst case scenario is some data ghosting and glitching." Artemis peered into the crate. "Two-handed broadsword, approximately eleven metres long, one metre wide. Grossly impractical design, likely ceremonial and bloody useless." She returned the lid with a slam. 

"Artemis?" Hoist beckoned.

"Yeah?" Typing the description into her datapad, she logged the artifact and continued to the next crate, repeating the process.

"The Magnus hammer you had during the Legion conflict...what did it look like? And what happened to it afterwards?"

"I unceremoniously dumped it off on Debris," Artemis reported, prying open the lid of the next crate. "Blue and gold — "

"— with a head slimmer, little longer, compared to your sledge hammer's, and a tapered point at one end?"

She tracked the engineer, a slow motion of her head, expression somewhere between confusion and dread. "Please tell me you're asking this for purely academic reasons."

"I'm taking it," Hoist stood, setting the lid where he had been, "you were completely unaware of just now holstering a Magnus hammer fitting that description to your back?"

"I left that one on Debris." Her tone was insistent. "Probably just had an automatic response." Casually, she drew the weapon. "Every temple of Solus Prime had one at one point before they were confiscated for officers' weapons during the Ratioist regime. I think Smokescreen said once the Archives alone housed ten styles, and another seven at the Senate." The delivery was nonchalant, but she stared at the weapon in her hands, her optics revealing that she doubted her own assessment of the situation. "This isn't the same one. Same build, yeah, but not the same one. I would know if it was. This isn't."

 _You're talking too much, Art; you're freaking out._ Trailcutter held his comment. Instead, he grinned. "Yeah, no way Tyrest could take on Wrecker HQ. Your buddies would have let you know decacycles ago when we got comms back up either way." He clapped her right shoulder. "Let's finish up for Max and get that over with. Sooner we get that done, the sooner you can get some rest, okay?"

"I'll give you a hand," Hoist suggested. "Better yet, we should call in Xaaron to help identify the artifacts."

Trailcutter snapped his fingers and pointed at his _amica endura._ "Now we're talking! Great idea, Hoist!"

"Art, let me make the call to Max," Hoist continued. "I can pull field medic rank and relieve you. You don't look too well right now."

"Hmm?" She tore her optics from the hammer to the engineer.

Hoist nodded, brow furrowed, as he removed his comm. "Yeah, I'm making the call. Hoist to Fortress Maximus."

"No, I'm fine," Artemis stood, knuckles tight. "I'm just — "

"—tired." Trailcutter finished her sentence, hand now on her spinal strut. "Hoist's right. Likely Ratchet figured you'd know better than to get into a fight after post-op."

"I'll send her down with Grapple, then. Thanks, Max." Hoist ended the call. "He still wants to get your statement on the altercation before we leave port. Grapple, we're going to need you over here...."

Her friend's voice grew distant, and her vision greyed, and those dark memories from before — 

_— before when? —_

_— lapped at her consciousness, tendrils reaching from the darkness —_

An embrace around her shoulders, a familiar presence against her arm, pulled her back into reality. "You're fading on me," Trailcutter whispered against her helm. "Tell me what I can do to help."

"I think Hoist is right," she stated. "Maybe I've overexerted myself."

Hoist's optics flickered as Grapple joined the three. "I'm...not certain how to respond to that. I had expected a protest, maybe even an argument."

"What did I miss?" Grapple demanded.

"Art throat-punched a Cee-Oh-Ell knight," Hoist stated. 

"Probably deserved it," the caution yellow mech muttered, "especially after the travesty of what they did to mock Gilded era architecture back on Theophany." 

Sheathing the hammer once more, Artemis patted Trailcutter's arm as she parted company with he and Hoist, falling in step with Grapple. 

As they left, Hoist held up a finger as to remind her she still had the weapon; Trailcutter set his hand on his friend's shoulder and shook his head. "I don't think it's that simple, Hoist," he admitted, focusing on his partner's back, the cobalt and blue hammer cradled in an overhand draw. "I remember this. Something like this." Shaking his head, he faced Hoist. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

Questions rose to Hoist's attention, but he could not voice them. _Not yet._

_Maybe later._

**NEXT CHAPTER:** Black Sun


End file.
